【Da Yin】1

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

Chapter 1 ◆ Impression
of Yin Nang Temple The morning at Nang Taoist Temple comes earlier than other places. As the morning prayer bell rang, everyone walked out of the room. Those who came here to receive knight training also had to participate in morning prayers. Nice saw Luke among the crowd.
Like a soul, Luke also saw him, and the long-tongued man immediately came over with a smile: "How did you sleep last night? Did anything happen?"
"No."
Nice could only lie, but it was not a lie, because he really didn't do anything, just touched it with his hands.
He subconsciously twisted his fingers, and there was still a greasy feeling there.
"I have obtained permission from the dean. After the prayers, we will set off. This journey will not be easy."
Luke said about his arrangements.
The morning prayers were held inside the chapel. Nice followed Luke inside with the other Nang practitioners.
The chapel was packed; Nice estimated there were probably two or three hundred people. This was roughly what he had expected. The dormitory area at the back had two rows of rooms facing each other on each floor, a total of sixty rooms, making two hundred and forty rooms across four floors—the numbers matched perfectly.
For him, this was the first time he had seen everyone in the Nang Academy.
The chapel was clearly divided into two sections: the front was filled with formal Nang practitioners, while the back housed students and those who came to eat and teach martial arts. Although they all dressed the same, the overall atmosphere was completely different.
The Deacon Anthony, whom he had met yesterday, was also at the front, beside a person in a white robe.
There was only one person wearing a white robe here; without a doubt, it was the abbot of the Nangdao Academy. He was also a tall, elderly man, seemingly younger than Elder Simon. Perhaps due to his status, this abbot appeared more serene, unlike Elder Simon, who sometimes unintentionally exuded a murderous aura.
However, Nice dared not underestimate this abbot; a sacred aura emanated from him.
Nice had seen similar auras on Elder Simon and the bishop. In terms of intensity, the bishop's aura was naturally stronger, but it appeared somewhat chaotic, far less pure and refined than that of the abbot before him.
Holy power originates from faith, giving clergy a significant advantage in this regard. The purity of this power is related to one's proximity to God; the purer the power, the closer one is to God, and the easier it is to receive His response. The most direct manifestation of this is that when casting divine spells, the purer the power, the less it is consumed, and the better the effect.
The abbot wasn't the only one with a powerful aura; in the area before him, there were at least five or six others of equal or slightly inferior strength, and the others were roughly equivalent to high-ranking pastors. The fact that
such a powerful institution housed so many formidable figures gave Nice a better understanding of the Church's strength.
It wasn't just the knights who were powerful; within their group, many others exuded a powerful aura. However, this wasn't a calm and gentle, divine aura, but rather one filled with rage and murderous intent.
When Luke mentioned the instructors here, he said they were extremely skilled, but at the time, Nice didn't pay much attention. In his mind, how could truly capable knights have fallen to the point of hiding in the knightly academy to make a living?
Clearly, his thinking was wrong; a person's status and circumstances don't necessarily depend on their strength.
The morning prayer ceremony was very solemn and exceptionally long, lasting a full hour.
After the prayers, it was breakfast time, but Nice didn't like the food here at all. He told Luke to go eat by himself while he went back to his room to pack his things.
Half an hour later, he stood at the entrance of the Nangdao Academy, carrying a large bag. The bag contained the items he had received the day before, along with the chainmail; the greatsword was slung over his shoulder, the bag resting on one end.
A moment later, Luke emerged, carrying a long wooden stick with iron plates at both ends—clearly a weapon as well. Luke led the way again, with Ness following behind. The two left the town, walking along a small path.
It was a dirt path, but the soil was filled with stones and sand of various sizes. Ness knew this was to prevent weeds from growing, and besides these two things, there was probably lime underneath. Every five or six meters, pieces of wood could be seen buried horizontally in the ground, obviously to prevent rainwater from washing away the sand and stones. This knowledge wasn't implanted into his brain by the old man, but rather the result of his own analysis. Now, whenever he sees something, he naturally understands the underlying principles, something that only comes with extremely rich experience, yet he already possesses it.
Luke walked ahead, his long stick sweeping back and forth through the bushes on either side. This was definitely not for fun; things were being driven out of the bushes every now and then. The most numerous were all sorts of small insects, from grasshoppers and crickets to scorpions and centipedes. Sometimes lizards and toads would also dart out. The most terrifying thing was that a snake crawled out of the bushes. It was a bluish-gray snake, and it didn't seem to be venomous, but Nice wasn't sure.
"Yinnangyuan isn't far from town, only a dozen or so li, but the road is very difficult. This section is the easiest part; from here on, we'll have to climb the mountain..."
Luke's mouth was never idle; he'd been talking the whole way. He was pointing ahead with his long wooden stick. Sure enough,
a mountain stretched out before them. It wasn't very high, only about a hundred meters, and not too steep.
However, Ness knew that climbing a mountain path was no easy feat.
A li on flat ground would be a breeze, but on a mountain path, it was hard to say how many peaks they would have to cross.
Ness cut a branch with his sword, whittled it into a walking stick, and began climbing behind Luke. Although he was prepared, he still didn't feel relaxed. Luckily, he had been traveling for the past three months, constantly training his body; otherwise, he probably would have collapsed after just crossing a mountain.
"You're no good! You're too lazy to train. For us people your age, going from Nangdao Academy to Nangdao Academy and back is like a stroll,"
Luke mocked Nise, though his words weren't malicious, and he deliberately slowed his pace so Nise could keep up.
"Didn't you say life here is leisurely? I don't see how diligent you are,"
Nise retorted, not one to be easily bullied.
"Even if I'm lazy, my goal is to become a knight! I was sent here when I was seven. Back then, I had to run a lap around town every day in armor, then practice my wrist strength with a mallet, my arm strength with an iron bar, and my waist, back, and leg strength by carrying sandbags. I've never given up on these basics."
Luke boasted, and in front of Nice, he certainly had the right to boast. At this moment, Nice was panting like a dog, his tongue almost hanging out, but Luke remained calm and steady, his steps still steady.
In the Nangdao Academy, it's indeed easy to be influenced by the Nang practitioners and become lazy. However, the Nangdao Academy also has its advantages. As long as you get along well with the Nang practitioners, it's easy to find one to help you recover your strength and eliminate fatigue when you're tired from training. This also means that as long as Luke and the others are willing, they can keep training, and their progress will naturally be much faster.
Luke, this gossipy guy, comes from a good family and has a kind heart, so he naturally does quite well in the Nangdao Academy. He can easily get along with any Nang practitioner, so recovering strength and eliminating fatigue is no problem for him. Therefore, his strength is among the top in the first-stage Soul Realm students.
At this moment, he showed his enthusiastic side, his mouth almost never stopping the whole way.
"...The Yinnang Academy is different from the Nangdao Academy. In the Yinnang Academy, everyone is self-reliant and solves everything themselves, unlike the Nangdao Academy where the doors are closed during the day and a dozen pairs of eyes are watching all day. But then again, although the Nangdao Academy doesn't criticize itself much, if you need anything, just call out and a whole bunch of people will come to your aid..." "
...There are wild beasts in the mountains, so you'd better be careful. The most dangerous are bears. If you encounter one of those guys, even if you're wearing chainmail, it's useless. One slap and it'll flatten you. Besides that, wild boars are also dangerous; chainmail is useless against them. On the other hand, wolves aren't scary. A wolf's teeth can't penetrate chainmail. I see you seem to be wearing a piece of chainmail..."
"...If I were you, I would definitely stay at the Nangdao Academy for a while longer, at least a year, to learn one or two martial arts techniques. Not to fight anyone, but to have the strength to protect myself in the mountains. So I wouldn't be sleeping in the middle of the night and get dragged away by wolves..." "
...Every Saturday, someone delivers things in. The safest way to get back to town is to go with them..."
Ness remained silent. He could never get a word in edgewise with Luke, this gossip, so he simply listened. He quickly realized that this gossip was incredibly knowledgeable about Admont, not only knowing the geography of the area perfectly but also being intimately familiar with the Nangdao Academy and the important figures in town. Not a single word he spoke was superfluous; everything he said carried useful information.
The sun gradually rose higher, and the weather grew hotter. Around ten o'clock, Nice finally saw several rows of neatly arranged holes on a cliff face, revealing high walls, corridors, arched ceilings, and pillars.
The Yinnang Temple was actually carved out of the cliff face—how much effort and manpower must have taken!
A winding, narrow path stretched from the ridge all the way down there.
"I'm not going down,"
Luke said to Nice, then turned and left. He was a lazy person, and this place didn't give him a good feeling.
Watching Luke leave, Nice carefully descended the mountain path.
Walking this path definitely required courage, because there was a sheer cliff on one side, without even a guardrail. The mountain path was about shoulder-width wide. Nis glanced down and felt dizzy, as if he were floating outwards. Startled, he quickly pressed himself against the mountain wall, his greatsword and bag clattering to the ground.
Suddenly, a gust of mountain wind blew, and Nis felt as if he were about to be lifted up. He pressed himself even closer to the mountain wall, his fingers gripping the cracks tightly. Fortunately, his greatsword and bag, which had fallen to his feet, weren't blown away, but the walking stick he was sharpening was blown off the cliff.
Nis's face turned slightly pale. The wind blew in gusts, its direction somewhat erratic, sometimes blowing in his face, sometimes from behind. Nice cursed under his breath, slowly making his way down the slope. The short stretch of steep incline took him a full half hour. Finally
, upon entering the Yinnang Temple, he breathed a sigh of relief.
The Yinnang Temple was built into the mountainside, carved directly into the cliff face. When it was originally built, two horizontal caves must have been carved out first as corridors, and then rooms were carved along the vertical cliff face. The rocks separating the rooms became natural walls and pillars. Compared to the Yinnang Temple, this place was much simpler. The stone walls, pillars, floors, and steps were unadorned, simply polished. To Nice's surprise, there wasn't a single person in sight.
He wandered aimlessly within the Yinnang Temple.
The place wasn't large, with only two long corridors connected at opposite ends. Near the other end was an open-air platform. The view from the platform was indeed beautiful, but the mountain wind was strong; he almost got blown away.
The more important parts of the Yinnang Temple were all on the upper floor, where there was a chapel and the abbot's office. Only these two places had any decoration. The chapel had wooden floors and stained-glass windows with inlaid paintings, and the abbot's office had an iron shutter. The lower floor contained a dining hall, a kitchen, and a warehouse, along with a dozen or so empty rooms of unknown purpose. All the other doors were closed, except for the chapel door, which was open.
Nice went inside.
At the front of the chapel was a large cross, beneath which were five rows of benches. The benches were made of oak, unpainted, but the woodwork was exquisite. With nothing else to do, Nice knelt before the cross and prayed.
After some time, he sensed another person in the chapel.
"You're the new guy?"
The person behind him had already scrutinized Nice for a while; with his abilities, Nice was practically transparent to him, completely seen through. "Very good, you have a very good foundation,"
the person praised.
Nice turned to look.
The man behind him was probably around forty-five or forty-six years old, a large man with a fleshy face and a messy beard. He looked more like a butcher than a clerk. However, this fierce-looking man exuded an aura similar to that of the old man Simon—both were subtle and unusually restrained. The old man had never said what this restrained aura represented, but Nice could guess that it was definitely proof of strength. This man was definitely not simple.
"Are you Dean Glory?"
Nice could roughly guess the man's identity because Luke had said when he arrived that he would be very surprised to see the Dean of the Hidden House.
To be honest, he was indeed somewhat surprised now.
Generally speaking, as one's temperament changes, one's appearance will also change. Those who kill many people, even if their faces don't become monstrous, will at least gain a touch of ferocity. And members of the church, as their strength increases, no matter how vicious and treacherous their hearts, maintain a peaceful appearance. But this person before him completely overturned his perception.
"That's right, I am Gloria,"
the headmaster nodded.
"There's more than just the two of us here, isn't there?"
Nice asked, voicing his doubts. Actually, he also wanted to ask where the headmaster had gone.
"Of course not. Although there are fewer people in the Hidden Bag Institute than there, there are still more than thirty people. The first thing after joining the Hidden Bag Institute is that you have to find yourself a place to live. The rule here is that you have to do everything yourself."
Looking at Nice's age, the headmaster stroked his chin, hesitated for a moment, and finally relaxed the requirement: "Until you have built your own place to live, you can choose a room here to stay temporarily."
Nice expressed his gratitude: for him, an exception had been made.
The abbot continued, "Here, no one will bother you, and no one will disturb you. Unlike the other monasteries in town, if you want to leave, you don't even need to tell me."
This was exactly what Luke had told him, and Nice didn't think it was a good thing. He wouldn't let himself be spoiled. "What if I want to be ordained or learn something?"
He came here to improve his strength as quickly as possible; leisure was a luxury for him.
"You can come to me, and I'll arrange it for you. However, everything comes at a price... Of course, ordination doesn't count."
The abbot stopped himself in time. He suddenly remembered that there were a few things that were necessary, and even those money-grubbing guys from the Vatican wouldn't dare to make money on every single thing.
"Forget about today, let's do it tomorrow! I'll arrange someone for you to familiarize yourself with this place,"
the dean said, effectively dismissing him.
Nice took his leave very respectfully.
He dared not show the slightest disrespect, even if the other party didn't care about his attitude. His father had told him from a young age that your attitude towards others determines how they perceive you, and that being respectful to those of higher status was never a bad thing. His father might have had some problems with how he treated the servants in the house, but he had always been successful in other areas.
The Hidden House was built two-thirds the way up the cliff. When he arrived, Nice had taken the stone steps leading down from the top, so he knew no one was up there. There was another set of stone steps leading down to the foot of the mountain. This set of steps was slightly longer than the previous one, narrow and steep, and Nice again made his way down the cliff face. Fortunately, the terrain flattens out considerably halfway up the mountain, and the stone steps disappear, replaced by dirt paths leading towards the hidden place. Because it's a slope, these paths are carefully paved to prevent slipping, with wooden stakes placed every few feet to prevent the soil from shifting.
The Hidden Temple is located in an irregularly shaped valley. The surrounding ridges resemble tree roots, extending in all directions, and the valley's direction can be guessed from the ridges.
Nice strolls aimlessly.
This valley should have originally been entirely forested, but many trees have been cut down and converted into farmland. Wherever there is farmland, houses can be seen. That must be the house that Dean Glorier mentioned, the one he built himself.
Strolling along, Nice's eyes were opened. These houses were incredibly diverse, not only in style and design, but also in the materials used. Most were wooden houses, yet these were further divided into bungalows and treehouses.
There were also rammed earth houses, and these came in several styles: some built on flat ground, others with half the house submerged in a pit dug in the ground.
Even simpler were the houses; he saw a cave carved into a mountainside, its entrance enclosed by a stone wall without even a door. Comparable to this was a thatched hut, supported only by four wooden pillars and a thatched roof, with only a simple thatched enclosure as walls.
This gave Nice some inspiration. He could build a house like that too; if all else failed, he'd just have to make do with a thatched hut.
As he walked, he heard a metallic clanging sound in the distance, like someone hammering iron. Nice followed the sound. In the distance, two mountain ridges met, and the valley ended there. A plume of grayish-white dust rose into the sky. Halfway up the mountain, there was a barren clearing with six iron furnaces in a row, and a dozen or so people were forging things around them.
Nice suddenly remembered what the headmaster had said earlier—that the Hidden Bag Institute had a total of thirty-odd people. He hadn't expected that nearly half of them were gathered here; no wonder he couldn't see anyone from the Hidden Bag Institute over there.
Only one of the six iron-making furnaces was lit, but three men took turns stuffing iron sheets into it for forging, then clamping them onto an anvil and hammering them. The iron bars were quickly flattened into thin sheets, which were then thrown into water to cool before being gathered in front of a large shovel.
Nice had never seen such a shovel before; the handle was very long, but the blade was only a little over a foot long and as thick as an axe. It was precisely because of this strange shape that the shovel's effect was astonishing. The thin iron sheets were stuffed into the shovel, and with a swift movement, the shovel would immediately cut a thin strip of iron, about a millimeter wide. Because the wires were cut, they were naturally curled. The people nearby neatly trimmed the wire bundles and then wound them around an iron rod…
Although he only saw them threading the wires onto the rod, Nice could already guess what they were doing. They were definitely forging chainmail.
He had seen chainmail forged in Flanders before; there, they first drew iron bars into wires, then wound them around an iron rod, then remelted, forged, and quenched them before cutting them into sections of iron rings, which were then used to weave chainmail.
The process here was clearly more complex, but he felt that the efficiency was much higher.
When I watched people forging chainmail in Flanders, what impressed me most was the pulling of the wire. It required pulling back and forth a dozen times, from the thickness of a little finger all the way down to the thickness of a toothpick. The pulling speed had to be slow, or it would break.
Here, however, the large iron hammer swung with incredible speed, forging a thin piece of iron in fifteen minutes. The person wielding the scythe was even faster, their hand moving up and down in less than half a second. A single piece of wire could be wound into three iron rings.
Intrigued, Nice walked over, wanting to take the opportunity to greet these people, since he would be living here for a long time. To his disappointment, everyone saw him but pretended not to. His greetings went unanswered, and no one even glanced at him.
Although the "Butcher" director had told him that the people here wouldn't meddle or bother others, their unusually tight coordination suggested that not everyone was struggling alone.
After watching for a while, Nice noticed that those winding the iron rings had the easiest job, so he approached.
"Is there going to be a war?"
Nice asked softly.
There were five people winding the iron rings. Because it was manual labor, although simple and easy, it wasn't fast. Nice only needed one person to answer.
Unfortunately, the five men were completely uncooperative, ignoring his presence entirely.
"Your craftsmanship is quite unique,"
Nice tried to flatter them.
To his dismay, it didn't work well; not only the five men encircling the iron rings, but the others were completely unresponsive.
Nice awkwardly stepped aside, glancing at the pile of iron bars and then at the iron strips preheating beside the furnace. After observing for a while, he could roughly calculate that these materials should be enough to make five or six thousand sets of chainmail—definitely a big deal.
On the way here, Nice had already heard from the old man that in this decadent age, even the kunangis were far from serene and devout. Their lives weren't just about prayer; on the contrary, these kunangis were all multi-talented, proficient in several crafts, and often researched strange and unusual things in their spare time, in many ways closer to magicians.
Similarly, the lives of the kunangis were by no means impoverished. They had no worries about food and clothing, were skilled in various crafts, and had a lot of free time, so they often made things to support themselves and sell.
Their creations were often far superior to those of outside artisans, so traveling was never a problem. Because of this, these kunangis were never short of money.
One of the main reasons Nice agreed to become a khunang was because of these words. At the time, he wasn't entirely sure, but after this tour, he was convinced.
The chainmail was valuable, and blacksmithing wasn't the only way these khunang made money. He'd just seen a row of waterwheels by a stream, with a mill and other workshops nearby. He'd also seen flocks of sheep grazing in the woods, and vineyards on the hillside, the grapes clearly intended for winemaking—something he knew very well. Clearly, these khunang had plenty of ways to make money. This wasn't just a hidden valley; it was a veritable valley of gold.
Now he understood more and more why the old man always said it was a decadent age.
Everyone was chasing money: the Knights Templar, kings of various nations, and the church. The entire church was chasing money; not only priests, bishops, and archbishops had ways to make money, but the monasteries were also making money, owning numerous properties, and eventually even the monasteries themselves were adept at making money.
The old man seemed somewhat lost in this decadent era.
However, he liked it.
His first day at the monasteries had been so unpleasant, which greatly frustrated Nice.
He spent the entire day exploring the valley, familiarizing himself with the surroundings, but hadn't had a chance to get to know the other hermits. In fact, he had no idea how to approach them.
Although Old Man Simon had enlightened him and instilled much knowledge in his mind, there was nothing about how to communicate with people.
Fortunately, the next day, someone finally spoke to him.
Early in the morning, just after finishing his morning prayers, someone knocked on the door.
Opening the door, he saw Dean Glory standing there, followed by a hermit in his thirties.
The moment Nice saw that man, his eyes stung. This man constantly emanated surging holy power, giving the impression of being enveloped in invisible thorns. He was incredibly strong, terrifyingly strong. Although his cultivation level might not match that of Elder Simon and Dean Glory, in a real fight, those two would likely be no match for him.
Having spent three months by the old man's side, Nice had gained some understanding of this world. He now knew that cultivation level didn't represent strength, much less combat power. Cultivation level was the level of power one could control; the higher the cultivation level, the higher the level of power one could control. Elder Simon, for example, had already touched upon the realms of time and space. The person before them, however, belonged to a different type. They didn't pursue high realms, but simply sought combat power. They were only interested in divine arts that could enhance combat power, and wielded them with unparalleled skill. They even altered the characteristics of holy power, transforming the originally gentle and mild holy power into something sharp and aggressive, similar to fighting spirit. They were born to fight, lived to kill, and could easily defeat those of much higher realms.
“Nice Holt Conseil, our newest member. He hasn’t been ordained yet, which is why I asked you to come,”
Abbot Glorier said to the man behind him. Then, turning to Nice, he continued, “This is Morgan Nang, the one I’ve chosen to preside over your ordination ceremony. No one is more suitable than him.”
“Are you a judge?”
Nice asked tentatively.
These unconventional priests had various titles: judge, adjudicator, warrior priest, priest-warrior… other titles were common, but the title of adjudicator was reserved for those in the Inquisition. Ironically, these unconventional priests were the most numerous within the Inquisition.
“I used to serve Count Claudius,”
the Nang said, clearly guessing Nice’s thoughts, which was tantamount to revealing his identity.
“This is the first time I’ve heard of a Judge becoming a Kanna.”
Nice used surprise to mask his embarrassment; after all, doubting someone is very impolite.
“No one has ever said that a Judge cannot become a Kanna,”
Morgan said wittily, unlike the other Kannas here who were cold and aloof.
Seeing that this man avoided answering, Nice immediately understood. There must be a story behind this man.
In the church, the situation of Judges and Kannas is similar. To become a Judge, one must relinquish most of their power, and it’s unlikely they can follow the path of priest—bishop—archbishop. However, they have another system; if they rise through the ranks, their status is no less than that of a bishop. Becoming a Judge also has an advantage: they don’t need to abide by those strict rules and regulations, and can even have legal marriages. It can be said that judges and ascetics are two completely opposite extremes. The former pursues immense power and is otherwise unrestrained, while the latter pursues a pure heart, drawing closer to God through asceticism.
A high-ranking judge who abandons everything he once pursued to become an ascetic must have untold reasons.
Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, illuminating the cross directly in front of him. The mesmerizing, iridescent light added a touch of sacredness to the cross.
Nice knelt before the cross, a brocade cushion beneath his knees, for the ceremony might last a long time.
At this moment, his hands were clasped together at his chest, and he recited a prayer. Beside him, Morganus held a thick scripture and chanted, sprinkling a few drops of holy water above Nice's head with each verse. As the holy water evaporated, a hazy holy light enveloped Nice. The light gradually grew brighter, looking somewhat like firelight, occasionally soaring upwards towards the ceiling, and sometimes shrinking into a small ball, as if it might go out at any moment.
Morganus paid no attention to these changes; his job was simply to chant the scripture and sprinkle the holy water. The ceremony was very simple, but it took a long time, which was why Abbot Glorier was unwilling to personally preside over the ceremony for Nice. At this moment, though Nice was kneeling before the cross, his consciousness was already in another world.
He was looking around in astonishment.
The large tree in the distance, the fence beside it to keep the sheep away, and the rows of tombstones—everything was so familiar. This was his hometown, the town where he was born and raised.
Suddenly, he saw his relatives whispering and discussing something under the tree.
Nice approached blankly, step by step.
Strangely, none of his relatives saw him; it was as if he were a wisp of transparent air.
"Henry's lands aren't worth that much money, and you'd be useless with them. Besides me, who among you has connections to inherit the title?"
"We can't have them, but we can make sure you can't either."
"Is it necessary to be so ruthless? We're all relatives..."
"Don't say such useless things. We're relatives with that little bastard too. If we were really talking about feelings, we should help him deal with you."
"I only want the lands, I don't want any other property. Aren't you satisfied? There's a limit to your greed, Rabel. Don't think I don't know you're the one instigating this."
"What? Trying to threaten me? Even close brothers should keep their accounts straight. Henry is dead, his property should be divided among us. You take the largest share, so of course you have to give us all some compensation."
"Alright, I'll buy it at market price, and you can split the money."
"That sounds nice, but this is a fief, it's not comparable to ordinary land! How about this, I also have quite a bit of land, you help me turn it into a fief, don't you have the connections?"
The relatives argued heatedly, pushing and shoving each other.
Nice felt a surge of anger rising in his chest. He remembered, this happened the day before the funeral. The very next day, these guys had joined forces and taken everything that belonged to him.
Nice clenched his fist. How he wished he had a longsword in his hand. Even if he couldn't kill all these guys, he at least wanted to kill the curly-haired guy in the center. He had recruited all of them, he had started the whole thing, and even his father's death might be related to him.
Suddenly, Nice shuddered.
He remembered that it was all in the past. All his property had been donated to the church, and his relatives hadn't received a single benefit; in fact, they'd all been fined a large sum of money. The church's ability to ruthlessly exploit people was truly remarkable. As for that piece of land, he had designated it to the person who had betrayed him. Although that guy had benefited, he had become a target of public criticism, and his life certainly wouldn't be easy.
"This was a test, it was all a lie, it's all in the past, it's all a lie, it's all in the past..."
Nice kept repeating to himself.
This tactic worked; his heart gradually calmed down.
Just then, the scene shifted abruptly. The old man vanished, the cemetery disappeared, and even his relatives disappeared. The surrounding scenery changed to his family's manor house, surrounded by maids chatting and cleaning the rooms.
"What illegitimate child? I don't believe it. I suspect the old man has some kind of problem, that he's impotent, so he simply picked up a bastard outside and pretended it was his son." "
You say that probably because the old master never touched you. But honestly, with your looks, you're not exactly attractive."
"Yes, we know best whether the old master had affairs or not. Old Mu En said he was quite the womanizer in his youth."
"You actually believed that guy? The Baron just died, and he rushed off to inform the Horn family. He was the only servant who had access to the study key. The bastard's birth certificate and baptismal record were all in the study. I saw them before, but then they mysteriously disappeared. Use your brains, you should know what happened."
Nice's mind went blank, and he didn't hear a word of what was said afterward.
He only knew that the anger in his chest was burning brighter and brighter, and he couldn't extinguish it no matter what. He never thought that old Moon would betray him too. Until the day he left home, he thought old Moon was one of the few loyal people, because old Moon didn't side with his relatives like the other servants, but chose to leave like the housekeeper.
If Father had always been kind to other servants, then his kindness to old Moon was immeasurable.
Father had saved old Moon's life, and trusted him, making him the steward of the estate and granting him and his entire family the right to self-respect. Ness desperately wanted to fly back immediately; he wanted to ask old Moon what had happened. Why had he betrayed Father and him? Why, after choosing betrayal, had he left?
In the chapel, Morganus frowned slightly, glancing at Ness. A flash of red light appeared above the young man's head. Morganus shook his head, somewhat pessimistic about Ness's chances.
The Ordination Ceremony was a test, a test of one's resistance to original sin. The reason this test lasts so long is that the subjects are initially very clear-headed and able to control their emotions. Only after enduring a long period of testing and becoming mentally exhausted will they gradually give way.
The little guy's immediate failure indicates his weak will.
What's even more concerning is that his first failure was in "anger." Failure in laziness or overeating would be somewhat understandable. Children have less self-control, and most have never experienced hunger or fatigue. In the illusion, simply throw them into a deserted place, make them travel for days and nights, then present them with a large pile of food and a soft bed—it's hard for them not to fail.
As for the four original sins—jealousy, greed, pride, and wrath—children inevitably possess them, but the younger they are, the more innocent their minds, making these four trials easy to overcome, especially when they know they are being tested. With a little self-control, they can certainly persevere.
The little guy's performance disappointed him, and as he passed away, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He expected the second failure to come quickly, then the third, the fourth… and soon he would be free. Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned. An hour passed, then another, and nothing more happened to Nice. Instead, faint blue light occasionally emanated from her.
Within the illusion, Nice's mind became increasingly calm.
He passed the tests of jealousy and greed with ease.
His wisdom had been awakened, and he possessed the judgment of an adult. However, the more crucial reason was that both tests involved temptations like money and status. Nice knew money was good and status was important, but he only knew; he hadn't experienced them firsthand, so these things held little allure for him.
In the challenges of sloth and gluttony, the hallucinations depicted the night after his father's burial, a night of hunger and exhaustion. However, in the hallucinations, the hunger was amplified many times over, and day and night, those hateful relatives cursed him loudly, constantly stimulating his nerves, making sleep impossible.
But all of this was meaningless; that night had had a profound impact on Nice. He could almost feel old Simon hiding in the brewery behind the house, so he completely ignored his hunger and exhaustion.
Except for his initial failure in the challenge of anger, he had been progressing smoothly, but now, he was in trouble.
At this moment, darkness enveloped him.
Only the cold moonlight shone in through the narrow window.
Isn't that the scene in the room of Nang Daoyuan the night before yesterday?
A slender but plump woman was lying with her back to him. His hand had already reached under the innermost clothes, and the fingers of one hand were twisting the bright red. The other hand was pressed against the soft belly, feeling the plumpness and smoothness there.
Nice's mood was agitated, but he did not forget that he was undergoing a test.
As if bitten by a snake, he quickly pulled his hand out and shrank back, pressing tightly against the wall. The woman seemed somewhat surprised by this reaction. She gave a soft "hmm" with a hint of curiosity, and then turned around, facing him instead of back.
"Didn't you like it just now? Why aren't you making a move now?"
she asked softly, her figure exuding an indescribable allure. As she spoke, she gently pressed herself against him.
Nice had no way to avoid it. When two soft mounds pressed against his chest, and a delicate body rushed into his arms, his hands instinctively wrapped around her.
What had previously been just a slippery sensation on his fingertips now felt as soft and smooth as her entire body. What was even more unbearable for him was that the woman's abdomen was pressed tightly against his, and every gentle twist stirred ripples in his heart.
His mind was filled with desire.
Just then, the woman's lips brushed against his earlobe, gently biting it.
Nice felt no pain, only an itch, and a wave of tingling went numb.
"Want to know who I am?"
the woman whispered, her breath tickling Nice's ear, making the already tingling boy even weaker.
"I want to,"
Nice blurted out involuntarily.
The words had barely left his lips when everything vanished like a bubble. The
darkness was gone, the bright moonlight was no longer there, and the soft, fragrant embrace was nowhere to be found; only a deep sense of loss remained.
At that moment, he was filled with utter regret.
What he regretted was not his failure, but regret that he had failed too early, otherwise he would have known who that woman was. He twirled the smoothness on his fingertips again and put it to the tip of his nose to smell it. He seemed to be able to smell the faint fragrance.
Just when he was indulging in the wonderful feeling just now, suddenly, light filled his surroundings. He seemed to have suddenly entered a world of light, with even the air exuding a faint light.
There is no earth here, and there are steaming clouds and mist at your feet. From time to time, clusters of golden light emerge from the clouds. There is a piece of sky above your head. Many lights gather together automatically and flow slowly, like a river of light, or like a constantly changing neon rainbow light.
It took him a long time to notice him.
He seemed to be composed of light, his entire body shrouded in a faint glow. He could even see through his outstretched hand to the things behind it. This must be the light of the Holy Spirit. The most devout believers, upon death, ascend to heaven and are transformed into this light of the Holy Spirit, gaining eternal life.
Nice suddenly snapped back to reality.
He remembered the old man mentioning that everyone who joined the church had a chance to witness the immense power of the divine. Sure enough, his mind was now filled with over twenty prayers, some long, some short—the long ones almost like hymns of requiem, the short ones just a single sentence. He knew that each of these prayers corresponded to an ultimate divine art. Nice didn't try to memorize these prayers, because it was useless; once he left this space, everything would be forgotten.
Resurrection, angelic summons, the end times, the final judgment… A string of names of ultimate divine arts flashed through Nice’s mind. Suddenly, he stopped. He had found what he was looking for.
Revelation—one of the two ultimate divine arts of the prophetic lineage.
The other ultimate divine art is prophecy.
The difference between the two is that Revelation can know about the past, present, and near future, while Prophecy only concerns the future. It is said that there are two corresponding books, one called the Book of Revelation and the other the Book of Prophecy. He didn’t even dare to think about those two books; such legendary things could only be artifacts. Moreover, the existence of these two books has always been just a legend; no one has ever obtained either of them.
He forced his mind to calm down. He
only had one chance.
He wouldn't forget the old man's words: God's generosity is finite, and if one is foolish enough to gamble, one will end up with nothing. He
carefully recited the "Revelation" prayer, a very long and difficult one. In the past, it would have taken him at least a dozen tries to recite it fluently from beginning to end. But this time, he succeeded on his first try, and recited it with ease.
In an instant, Nice understood.
In this world completely controlled by God, there was absolutely no failure.
"I want to know how to find the path that is most suitable for me,"
Nice prayed silently.
As soon as he uttered his wish, a hazy blue light appeared before him.
The radiance gradually solidified into a mirror, revealing a familiar scene in its center: halfway up the mountain, in front of six iron furnaces, a group of men were toiling away, sweating profusely as they hammered away. The image grew larger and larger, finally settling on a man standing before a forging blade, his hand gripping the hilt, cutting thin sheets of iron into fine wires.
Chapter Two ◆ The Meaning of Guidance
The sun was almost setting, its afterglow streaming into the chapel.
Morgan stood there blankly, still earnestly reciting from his scripture, but inwardly filled with regret for his miscalculation. He had thought the ceremony would end quickly, but now the sun was almost setting and it was still not finished. He was wondering if he should continue to delay, and how long it would drag on.
Suddenly, Nys moved, and then he stumbled and fell to the ground. Emerging from the illusion, Nys felt sore and achy all over, especially his knees, which were almost numb. Anyone who had knelt in that position for more than ten hours would be in no good condition.
"Merciful Lord, have mercy on mankind, save mankind from suffering..."
Nys chanted the prayer, making the sign of the cross on his chest, and a very faint light immediately emanated from his body.
This was the first divine spell he had released.
The light was fleeting, lasting only a short time. After casting the divine spell, Nice felt slightly better than before, but his body was still unusually sore.
The spell was successful, but the effect was definitely poor.
Just then, another ray of holy light fell upon him, and this time the effect was much more obvious. Nice instantly felt all the soreness disappear, and his whole body was filled with boundless energy.
"Thank you, you've worked hard all day."
Nice naturally had to be polite to Morgan Nangshi, who had protected him and helped him recover his strength.
"How did it feel to cast the divine spell for the first time?"
Nangshi, who had once been a judge, looked at Nice with a smile.
"I feel ashamed of my abilities,"
Nice said politely, but it was the truth; the effect just now was truly appalling.
Compared to the divine magic cast by Morganangi, the difference was even more obvious. Unfortunately, due to the mutation of their holy power, the Judges were notoriously ineffective when casting divine magic on others; only when casting it on themselves did they show astonishing results.
"It's nothing, everyone is like that at the beginning… You don't need to keep using 'you' all the time.' It's tiring, even for me,"
Morganangi said, clearly a very easygoing person.
Nice, of course, readily complied; he was actually quite happy to change his address.
"By the way, who did you choose as your guardian angel?"
Morgan asked, quickly adding, "It needs to be registered," to avoid the young man thinking he had ulterior motives.
A guardian angel is essentially a guardian deity in a cult.
In other religions, a pantheon often has many gods, and worshipping a particular god grants one divine power, with future growth tied to the god's duties. However, believers in God only acknowledge one God, and such functions can only be performed by guardian angels. Given the importance of guardian angels, it's perfectly understandable that they would be recorded as important information.
Nice had no intention of hiding it, nor could he; his guardian angel would be easily discovered.
"Wadel."
Morgan Nance racked his brains for a while before finally recalling the angel from the deepest recesses of his memory. His expression immediately turned strange.
Angels were also ranked, and while Wadel wasn't at the very bottom, he wasn't far off. He couldn't even remember what duties this angel held, which showed how little importance he was placed on him.
But he couldn't say this to Nice's face, otherwise it would be tantamount to telling the little guy that this was definitely a wrong choice. Besides, even if he did say it, it would be too late; the opportunity to choose a guardian angel was only once, and once chosen, it couldn't be changed.
"Wadel, I understand."
Nance turned and left the church; he was going to the abbot's office to write some things into the file.
Watching Morgan Nangs walk away, Nice breathed a sigh of relief.
Sure enough, this secret was unknown to most; at least Morgan Nangs hadn't reacted at all.
The old man had told him that when choosing a guardian angel, there was a kind of cheating involved: the existence of companion angels.
A small number of angels were in pairs; if one was chosen as the guardian angel, the soul could choose the other. These companion angels were all of low status and possessed limited abilities, so they were generally disregarded.
The angel Waddler controls the function of "time," a very niche ability. Unless one aspires to be a prophet, no one would choose this type of angel. Even among those who want to become prophets, there are several other angels who control the function of "time." One of them holds a very high position, making him the preferred choice for pastors who wish to become prophets. Waddler's brother, the angel Barmote, controls the function of "travel."
"Travel" is a very popular and common function. Don't let the unassuming name fool you; a whole host of divine spells derived from this divine office are incredibly useful, such as "swift walking," "lightness," and "acceleration." These spells aren't just for traveling; in battle, having them enhance your abilities, regardless of how much they boost your combat power, at least increases your chances of survival if you're defeated. Many angels possess this function, including many of high rank, so choosing Barmote was definitely a mistake.
The old man wasn't an idiot or blind; he let him choose this way to ensure he didn't waste the gift of the god Mercury, who controlled the divine office.
"Travel" was one of the divine offices controlled by Mercury.
The overlap between his divine gifts and the abilities bestowed by his guardian angels has unimaginable advantages. He can learn any divine magic related to "travel" earlier than others, and the effects of his spells are more pronounced.
After finishing the dry bread he'd taken from the cafeteria, Nice knelt by the bedside and began his evening prayer.
The Inner Palace was indeed a very self-disciplined place; they didn't even ring the prayer bells, nor did they stipulate how many times a day one had to pray—everything was decided by the Inner Palace practitioners themselves.
In the past, aside from morning prayers, he would limit his prayer time to about half an hour. But this time, he made a plan for himself: end his evening prayers at 10 PM, sleep for five hours, thus delaying his morning prayers by an hour. He decided to pray for four hours, combining his morning and evening prayers.
This wasn't to show how devout he was. He needed strength; he needed to reach the level of a bishop in the shortest possible time.
Philip IV and Pope Clement II were like two towering mountains, always pressing down on him. Right now, he was only able to hide in the shadows because of the confusion of the heavens. Once the heavens were clear, whether he could continue to hide through this loophole would depend on his own strength. A strong sense of crisis made him feel that time was simply not enough.
To gain power, as a pastor, he had only prayer. Like the meditation of a soul mage, prayer was fundamental to a pastor. Compared to meditation, prayer was certainly less efficient. A mage was a farmer who cultivated his own land, while a pastor was a tenant who rented land from others. The former kept all the harvest, while the latter had to pay a portion of it to God, and the rent set by God was definitely not low.
Of course, there were advantages as well as disadvantages. The advantage was that if there was a group of believers, a portion of their prayers would also be counted towards the pastor's income. The more believers there were, the faster the holy power would grow, which was why the church desperately sought to expand its membership, especially among devout believers.
This was similar to the idea that a tenant could become a estate manager. Clearing land on your own doesn't offer such advantages.
However, advancing further is extremely difficult for priests; those positions are highly competitive, one can only rise if someone else makes way, and even then, there's no guarantee it will be your turn, as many people are eyeing that position.
Mages, on the other hand, can clear land themselves, and everything is theirs. With diligence and a bit of luck, they might very well become estate owners.
Although the old man didn't explicitly say so, Nice understood that the plan he had devised was for Nice to develop magic once he reached the level of a bishop and had the ability to protect himself.
Of course, all of this was still far off; what he needed now was to take the first step.
With each prayer, Nice could feel a trace of holy power gradually forming within him. This greatly comforted him. Although he had prayed constantly for three months, it had been to no avail.
Without ordination, his soul lacked God's imprint; no matter how much devotion he offered, it couldn't be transformed into holy power. Of course, that was because his devotion wasn't sufficient. If one were truly devout, even without ordination, the soul could communicate with God, receive His guidance, and gain divine power.
This is not mere hearsay; throughout history, there have been countless such individuals—one every ten years, or at least one every century. Without exception, they were all posthumously honored as "saints."
Nice dared not compare himself to them; his piety contained many other elements, and he could only accumulate holy power slowly by spending a great deal of time praying.
Four hours of prayer, five hours of sleep, then another four hours of prayer—Nice faithfully followed his self-made schedule. When he stepped out of his room the next morning, he felt that he had indeed gained something.
Although he had only slept for five hours, he didn't feel sleep-deprived. The prayer was only conducted on a superficial level of consciousness; his deeper consciousness was constantly resting, essentially in a state of half-sleep and half-awake.
Tonight, he could try sleeping an hour less.
But the most important thing now was to find the Nangshi he had seen in the "Revelation."
The man was forging iron the day before yesterday, and he's probably doing the same today. Crafting chainmail isn't something that can be done in a day or two. When he left the day before yesterday, there were still many iron bars and charcoal piled up next to him. Even if he could forge all those iron bars into iron rings in a day, there would still be a lot of work to do. The iron rings would have to be strung together one by one, and the gaps in the iron rings would have to be patched up to make a complete iron ring. This is all very time-consuming work.
To be honest, he still couldn't understand how these people planned to complete the work that followed. When he was in Flanders, he had seen the people there make chainmail. A skilled craftsman could only weave half a chain in a day at most, and it took twelve craftsmen working together to make one set of chainmail in a day. Whenever Flander's weapons workshop received an order, he would recruit a large number of day laborers from nearby villages, at least one or two hundred people.
Based on his guess that day, this group had received a large order for five or six thousand sets of chainmail. Following Flander's methods, at least one or two thousand day laborers would be needed. This way, they could make about a hundred sets of chainmail a day, and the order would be completed in about two months.
Filled with curiosity and eagerness, Nice left home immediately after finishing his morning prayers.
Before leaving, he didn't forget to grab a piece of black bread from the canteen.
To be honest, he had absolutely no liking for the black bread in his hand. The food at the town's monastery was already bad enough; he hadn't expected it to be even worse here. This stuff is dry and hard; you could use it to hit someone. Another thing that worried him was that when he took a black bread last night, he counted fifteen in total, and this morning he counted again—still fifteen. Did everyone here cook for themselves?
That seemed to be the only explanation. Then another question arose: how long had these breads been sitting there?
Nice didn't dare think about it anymore. Fortunately, this was the Hidden Burial Monastery; getting an upset stomach wouldn't matter, as the surrounding area was full of powerful priests.
However, he had already made up his mind to go for a walk outside this evening. He didn't need to go too far; there were birds and beasts everywhere. Last night, while praying and sleeping, he could always hear birds chirping and wolves howling. With his accuracy in throwing darts, filling his stomach shouldn't be a problem. Perhaps he should also learn some cooking skills.
Lost in thought, Nice descended from the monastery. When traversing that narrow mountain path, he still felt his way along the cliff face, but this time, he wasn't as afraid as before. Was it because of habit? Or because his mental strength had increased after taking vows?
The blacksmith's workshop was a bit far, and the valley was winding and meandering, which was why the sounds of hammering didn't travel very far and disturb others. When Nice arrived, the others hadn't started work yet. The iron furnace was hot; it had definitely been burning all night, though the furnace chamber and door were sealed with mud. He'd heard that when there was work to be done, the furnace wasn't turned off—there seemed to be some kind of tradition involved.
Nice knew he was early. Since he had nothing to do anyway, he went to the forging knife and started playing with it, looking genuinely interested. He wasn't pretending; he was genuinely interested in such things. Every man, after all, is interested in weapons. Every boy dreams of possessing a divine weapon to slay dragons, vanquish demons, and achieve great deeds.
Half an hour passed, and the sounds of voices and footsteps drifted from afar; the blacksmiths were arriving for work. Each of them carried a box, and they all seemed somewhat surprised to see Nice in the distance. As they drew closer, one of the burly blacksmiths asked, "What? Interested in blacksmithing?"
Nice remembered that he was one of the three men responsible for hammering the iron sheets.
Perhaps because they hadn't started working yet, these men weren't as indifferent as before.
"Yes, I've seen others make chainmail before. They always draw iron bars into wires first, and then thread them through. Your method here is quite novel,"
Nice said. When dealing with people who are skilled in technology, choosing a technical angle often makes it easier to get into the conversation.
This was a solution he had thought about for a long time.
Sure enough, once the topic of technology came up, the group became enthusiastic. The blacksmith rubbed his hand on the anvil, then plopped down on it, using the anvil as a chair. The others also found a rock to sit on.
The blacksmith grinned and said, "Those craftsmen can't compare to us. They only know how to copy others' methods. This method of forging chainmail was devised by a few of us. It's far more efficient, and these iron rings are all forged, making them much stronger than wire-drawn ones."
"Can I join?"
Nice asked, seizing the opportunity.
His goal was to get close to the sleight of hand who wielded the forged sword; joining this group was just the first step.
"How old are you? What can you do?"
The others all laughed.
"If you want to learn a trade, there's a row of waterwheels by the creek, and workshops all around. You can learn weaving or brewing there, or you could learn alchemy from Larvin and his gang. Blacksmithing is hard work."
The blacksmith raised his arm, showing off his muscles. To make blacksmithing easier, these people weren't dressed much, their arms completely exposed; the guy's arms were all solid muscles.
Nice wasn't interested in the physique; he was interested in the alchemy he'd just mentioned. On the way here, the old man Simon had told him that if he had the chance, it would be best to learn alchemy. He didn't need to learn it very well; like magic, just mastering some basic techniques was enough. The basics are often the most practical, whether it's magic or divine arts, and alchemy is no exception. Learning these things doesn't require too much time, as the level is low and not particularly profound. Besides, this level has often been thoroughly researched and isn't highly valued; alchemy tips and research materials are easy to obtain.
"Weren't some of you magicians before? Why don't you try alchemy?"
Nice asked, this time genuinely testing him. Although not entirely certain, he was about 80% sure that the person he saw in the "revelation" was a magician.
The old man Simon had instructed him to take advantage of his ordination to seek God's guidance and find the path most suitable for him. However, the old man had also speculated that the most suitable path for him would likely be one that primarily relied on divine magic, supplemented by magic, making full use of the talents bestowed upon him by the pagan god Mercury.
He certainly didn't lack guidance in divine magic; what he needed was a guide to lead him into the world of magic.
"You mean Mond? Of all of us, he's the only one who used to be a magician..."
The blacksmith looked around, making sure Mond wasn't there, before whispering, "You'd better not mention this in front of him; he's very sensitive about his past."
"Why? He... could he be a dark magician?"
Nex's expression changed drastically, but then he realized something was wrong. How could a dark magician appear in the revelation God had given him?
"No, that's not it. When Mond was young, he had the wild idea of creating a new school of magic, taking a path completely different from other mages. He did manage to create some things, but unfortunately, it turned out his ideas were impractical,"
the blacksmith explained, a slight smile playing on his lips. The other blacksmiths around him also wore amused smiles, clearly finding it amusing.
"How was it impractical?"
Nys was determined to get to the bottom of it. He was increasingly certain that this person was the key.
There was definitely more than one mage in this Hidden House. The man named Larvin mentioned earlier was certainly a mage as well. If any mage could become his guide, then his image wouldn't only appear in the "Revelation."
The blacksmith seemed somewhat hesitant, as this could be seen as speaking ill of someone. However, seeing Nice's eager expression, seemingly genuinely interested, he finally spoke up: "The worst thing for a mage is to be approached. Mondstadt wanted to change this, and he succeeded. But a mage who excels in close combat but is far inferior to a soul-type mage in long-range battles is really useless. His skills are best suited for assassination, but unfortunately, this guy is a coward."
As soon as he finished speaking, the blacksmiths around him burst into laughter; it was indeed quite ridiculous.
"Shh! Stop talking, they're here!"
a blacksmith sitting on the outermost side suddenly warned.
Sure enough, another group of blacksmiths approached; the Mondstadt blacksmith Nice was looking for was among them.
A week later.
On the path leading to the Hidden House, a group of Hidden House members emerged from the woods pushing heavy wheelbarrows. Bringing up the rear of the procession was a blond boy in a cloak.
Returning to town after a week, Niss felt a surge of life.
To be honest, he still preferred this kind of life; the Hidden House was far too desolate, and what he found even more unbearable was the lack of interaction among the people there.
In the following days, although he got to know all the other Hidden House members, not a single one invited him to visit, and even his closest associates only exchanged a few words with him.
What frustrated Nice the most was that he had tried everything, but still couldn't get close to the Nangist named Mond. Mond was a notoriously taciturn figure among the Nangists, never getting close to anyone.
Nice felt helpless with this guy.
He was back in town now, partly because tomorrow was Sunday, and partly because he needed guidance from Old Man Simon.
"Thank you for bringing me out. You can go back to the Nangist Academy now! I have some things to attend to,"
Nice said to the Nangists.
The old man's warehouse was at the other end of town. When Nice arrived, he found the gate locked.
Just as he was about to knock, he heard the door latch creak, and then the door opened.
"I knew you were coming,"
the old man said, carrying a water jug in his hand.
After entering the warehouse and closing the door again, the old man walked into the yard. In just one week, the yard had been transformed into a vegetable garden, the ground damp from watering.
"You seem quite carefree,"
Nice remarked, genuinely surprised. He hadn't expected the old man to be so relaxed, not at all like someone seeking refuge, but rather like someone on vacation.
"I never realized being a farmer could be so interesting,"
the old man said, whether with self-deprecation or truth. "You came to see me in such a hurry; something must have happened,"
he asked.
"I came here about the 'revelation,'"
Nice said softly, not daring to continue.
The old man then extended a finger and gestured around the area, and instantly, silence fell.
"Now you can speak,"
the old man gestured for Nys to continue.
"I saw someone in the 'Revelation,' and I guessed he should be my guide. But I heard that this person is a misguided loser, a ridiculous fellow in the eyes of others. As a mage, he pursues meaningless melee abilities, ultimately making himself neither a warrior nor a mage."
Nys said this so that the old man could confirm it for him.
In the past few days, besides trying every means to get close to this Mondstadt master, he had also been pondering which path was right for him.
What troubled him was that he couldn't figure it out at all.
"Have you found out more details? How strong is he?"
Although the old man could learn many things about the world in an instant, he was helpless when it came to people whose strength reached a certain level.
"Someone who knows him well said that his burst of combat power is actually very strong, even more terrifying than the Judge, but his ability to fight continuously is pitiful. The Judge can fight for at least half an hour, but he can only last for a few minutes at most."
He paid for this information with a wild rabbit, but unfortunately, it was of little use after he learned it. Nice looked at the old man, hoping that the old man could give him some guidance.
"There really is such a strange person?"
The old man also laughed, but he was also a little worried.
He couldn't fathom the mystery either.
He was certainly familiar with the Judges.
Judges were anomalies; though priests, they were more like warriors. Their divine spells were terribly ineffective against others, but incredibly effective on themselves. Because of this characteristic, once they cast a series of divine spells upon themselves, they transformed into fighting machines of unparalleled strength, astonishing speed, lightning-fast reflexes, tireless energy, formidable defense, sharp offense, impervious to injury, and extremely difficult to kill. They were definitely stronger than knights and paladins who had honed their martial arts from childhood. Even more impressively, the higher their cultivation level, the greater the Judges' combat power surpassed that of knights and paladins at the Soul level. Of course, the Judges are not without flaws. Their greatest weakness is their inability to fight for extended periods. Once their holy power is depleted, they are left to be slaughtered.
This unconventional mage was able to unleash combat power exceeding that of a Judge in a short time, but the duration was laughably short—no wonder he became a tragic figure.
"However, saying he took the wrong path might not be entirely accurate. Many failures are often just one step away from success, but unfortunately, they didn't continue."
The old man glanced at Nys.
Nys knew that the old man was warning him not to make the same mistake, because he, like that Mondstadt, had abandoned the existing path and was preparing to forge his own.
“The ‘revelation’ is absolutely correct. How exactly did that person do it?”
The old man felt that to find the answer, he needed more information.
Ness didn't disappoint him.
“That person originally planned to use the power of magic to create an all-around warrior, wearing light armor, which, with the enhancement of magic, would have the defense of heavy armor; wielding a light sword, which, with the enhancement of magic, would easily break through heavy armor.”
“The idea is not bad.”
The old man nodded.
Ness didn't see it, but he did; this person's idea came from the fighting style of angels in mythology.
Angels don't wear heavy armor, only battle robes, wielding spears of light and swords of fire, able to manipulate water, wind, earth, and fire, and able to control thunder and lightning.
Completely different from the Judge.
Ultimately, the Judge should be classified as a heavily armored warrior, clad in heavy armor and wielding a thick shield. Their role on the battlefield overlaps with that of knights and paladins.
Theoretically, if that person's plan succeeds, their role wouldn't be within the battle lines, but rather lurking outside them, seeking fleeting opportunities to deliver a swift and fatal blow. To be more precise, they would be an assassin operating on the battlefield.
Once the old man understood this, he could even deduce how the mage had done it. He seemed quite proficient in magic, especially low-level spells; his knowledge in this area surpassed that of most mages. There are many types of magic capable of achieving these goals, whether it's elemental enchantment or energy fields; the old man quickly listed over a dozen methods. However, all methods share the drawback of being soul-bound—they cannot be sustained.
For thousands of years, mages have used magic from a safe place, preparing their spells before releasing them from a great distance. The power of magic lies in its extremely long casting distance and terrifying power. The situation is similar when mages are defending themselves. Even if they could create an indestructible defensive barrier, they wouldn't dare stand in the midst of the enemy ranks, allowing themselves to be hacked and slashed by the enemy to test the barrier's strength. Their choice was to release an indestructible defensive barrier to temporarily hold off the enemy's attack, after which they would either flee far away or annihilate the enemy with a terrifying assault.
Magic didn't need to last. And that was the problem.
The old man pondered deeply; frankly, he didn't know how to untangle this knot.
Suddenly, Nice cried out, "Rat!"
The old man turned and saw only a dark shadow dart past in a corner of the warehouse, disappearing in the blink of an eye behind a pile of sacks.
"This is a warehouse; rats are inevitable,"
the old man said absentmindedly. Nice searched the ground for a while, then picked up several stone shards. These shards varied in size and shape, only their thickness was roughly the same. Nice bent the stone shard into an almost round shape with his hands. The shard was brittle, but it wasn't difficult to straighten it. He held one shard between his index and middle fingers, flicked his wrist, and the shard flew out with a "whoosh" and struck the corner with a "thud."
The rat that had just scurried there squeaked and darted out from the corner, moving so fast that only a dark shadow could be seen frantically darting about. Nice was quick as well; with a flick of his wrist, he held another shard between his index and middle fingers. The shard spun out, instantly knocking the darting shadow away. When the shadow landed, a half-foot-long black rat was seen twitching on its back.
Nice let out a soft breath.
This was a technique he had practiced along the way. At first, he hunted simply to fill his stomach, but later any bird, rabbit, or squirrel that entered his hunting range became his target. Even without prey, he would hunt fruit from trees, wildflowers by the roadside, scarecrows in the fields, hyacinths on the rooftops…
He made it his goal. During his days at the Inner Palace, he hadn't forgotten this skill, making several darts himself and using the surrounding mountains as a food warehouse. For several days, he hadn't touched the black bread in the canteen.
Nice didn't notice that the old man's eyes were fixed on him, his gaze full of excitement.
Sunlight shone through the narrow window, which was framed with frosted glass, scattering the light into the room. The room remained dim, with only a few rows of neat bookshelves and the books on them barely visible. This was the library of the Admont Inner Palace.
One of the reasons the old man had sent Nice here was for this library.
This might not be the largest library, but it was certainly the largest among those open to the public. The books here weren't the most precious, but they were comprehensive, covering all categories, even some books forbidden by the church. All the books were identical, a foot long and seven inches wide, with thick, hard leather covers; the only difference was their thickness. Clearly, these weren't originals, but copies.
Nice held a book of medium thickness in his hands, its cover titled "The Magic Archer, From the Stygiates to the Dadans." It wasn't a forbidden book, but it would be impossible to find elsewhere, because the profession of magic archer had always been a choice of heretics; while there were magic archers among God's followers, they were pitifully few.
Nice initially read very carefully, but gradually, he became a little impatient.
For some reason, he disliked bows and arrows; if he needed to shoot a distant target, he preferred a crossbow.
What frustrated him was that although he had found six professions that combined magic and ranged weapons, four of them used bows, and the other two used javelins. He couldn't understand why no one considered the crossbow. While the crossbow was inferior in speed of fire, it surpassed the bow in every other aspect. Was it because the crossbow was invented too late?
Just as Nice was hesitating about whether to force himself to like bows and arrows—after all, Mercury's proficiency included the shortbow, and the abilities bestowed upon him by this pagan god surely included a mastery of the shortbow—
suddenly, his spirits lifted. His fingers unconsciously traced the lines of the bookshelf, stopping precisely in front of a book. The book was titled *The Complete Book of Hidden Weapons*. He snatched it down; compared to the previous books, this one was much thicker, practically a city brick, its thickness almost matching its width. After flipping through it briefly, Nice's eyes gradually brightened.
Most of what could be called hidden weapons were thrown by hand, a fact that greatly pleased him. His skill in throwing stone fragments showed that the abilities bestowed upon him by the messenger god Mercury weren't limited to spears and shortbows; all soul-type weapons should be included. Anything thrown by hand fell under the category of spears, while anything relying on elasticity to generate power was considered a shortbow. He also had some proof of the latter; on his way here, he made several slingshots, and he was incredibly accurate with them, even developing many creative ways to use them.
The more he flipped through the pages, the more delighted Nice felt. Hidden weapons were exactly what he liked. Perhaps because he had experienced the harsh realities of the world too early, or perhaps because his wisdom had been awakened too early, he lacked understanding of life, yet possessed thoughts beyond those of an adult, which made his personality somewhat gloomy. The unique feature of hidden weapons compared to other weapons was their stealth and speed, making them difficult to defend against; they weren't weapons for fighting in a fair and square manner. This suited his taste perfectly.
Of course, nothing in this world is perfect, and hidden weapons, too, had their flaws, the most fatal being their short range. However, he didn't care. He'd said it before: if he needed to shoot a distant target, he'd definitely choose a crossbow.
He took the book and walked to the windowsill, where Nice sat down.
A row of chairs lined the library wall; the lighting there was the brightest, perfect for reading. There were no desks in the library, only book stands, which served a similar purpose.
When you're engrossed in something, it's easy to lose track of time.
Nice was completely absorbed in the book. It was practically an encyclopedia, mentioning countless hidden weapons, even including bows, crossbows, and slings. He'd never even heard of most of them, but thankfully, his extraordinary intelligence finally came in handy.
As he read, he categorized the hidden weapons.
The simplest classification is by damage type. Over 80% of projectiles cause piercing wounds, with only a few, such as slingshots, hand-held meteors, and flying stones, causing impact damage. This classification is based on the fact that the simplest way to utilize magic is to enhance its destructive power. Magic should be universally applicable to any type of damage. For example, sharpness can make arrows sharper, and spirit magic can be used on throwing knives.
Another classification method is by launch method, which can be divided into hand-launched, elastic-charged, and force-field magic. However, manipulating these methods is less straightforward; the only possible approach is to use magic to alter the projectile's trajectory after it has been launched.
Nice initially read slowly and carefully, but as the content of "Soul-Shattering Strike" increased, he flipped through the pages faster and faster. Despite the variations, the core principles remained the same; hidden weapons came in many forms, but the techniques were limited to only a dozen or so, far fewer than weapons like knives, swords, spears, and clubs. Near the end, he suddenly froze. The last chapter of the book was about various methods of defending against ranged weapons.
After only two pages, he cursed inwardly, even questioning whether this approach was correct. There were simply too many methods to deal with ranged weapons. The simplest was to wear armor. Heavy armor wasn't necessary; any chainmail would render most ranged weapons ineffective. The second biggest nemesis besides armor was the shield. Whether it's a wooden shield, a rattan shield, or a metal shield, all can render ranged weapons ineffective. And this doesn't even require any special techniques.
As for magic, there are countless ways to counter ranged weapons: defensive barriers, shielding fields, and illusions can all render them useless. One simple method is to simply create a strong gust of wind.
He finally understood why ranged weapons weren't very popular on the battlefield. There were simply too many ways to counter them. Feeling frustrated, he continued reading. When he reached the last two pages, he almost choked on his food. The entire passage focused on countering ranged weapons, but unexpectedly, the last two pages discussed methods for "countering countermeasures."
Nice quickly flipped through the pages, wondering if there were any "counter-counter-counter" methods.
Fortunately, his worries didn't materialize, otherwise the discussion would have gone on endlessly. If there were "counter-counter" methods, then surely there would be "counter-counter-counter" methods, and then…
Upon closer inspection, all these countermeasure methods were related to magic. There were
the most methods for dealing with armor; as long as the weapon had additional damage, whether it was fire, acid, or poison, ordinary armor definitely wouldn't be able to withstand it. As for unusual armor… why would he bother with people wearing unusual armor? Those people are either incredibly powerful or hold high positions; getting involved with them will definitely cause trouble.
The way to deal with a shield is simple: go around it. After all, a shield can only block one side; no one goes into battle wearing a barrel. Looking at the techniques mentioned, I sighed inwardly; this was much more difficult than dealing with armor.
Finally, only defensive magic remained.
Frustratingly, there was only one sentence: "You just need to strike before your opponent."
There are so many types of magic; defensive magic alone is divided into three main branches, each with numerous sub-branches. To break through them, you must use specific, targeted methods. However, this isn't exactly a weakness of hidden weapons. There aren't really any particularly effective countermeasures against the ever-changing nature of magic; otherwise, the church would have wiped out all the mages long ago. Nice carefully examined these methods of counteracting the effects of magic. These methods were all related to magic, and starting them wasn't difficult; most of them were basic applications of magic.
This reminded him of the book about magic archers he had just seen.
Throughout history, many pagan nations had cobbled together such armies. After all, training a magic archer was far easier than training a mage, and mages only showed their power at least at the mid-level; apprentice and novice mages were practically useless on the battlefield, while magic archers, without hesitation, were quite powerful from the start.
He suddenly wondered what it would be like if someone spared no expense to train an army entirely composed of magic archers. This thought initially surfaced casually, but it quickly churned within him. Suddenly, he felt dizzy, and the world spun before his eyes. Then, the sounds of battle filled his ears.
Niss had no idea what was happening. This definitely didn't seem like an illness; it was more like he was trapped in some kind of hallucination. But this was the Nangdao Academy, guarded outside. Who could possibly bypass the guards and sneak in? And why would they bother with a mere novice like him?
The sounds of battle grew clearer. He could even hear the whistling of arrows piercing the air, incredibly dense, but unfortunately, he couldn't see them. All he could see was a blood-red light. He could only imagine a scene of arrows raining down in his mind. Corresponding to the dense sound of arrows piercing the air were the distant neighing of warhorses, followed by heavy thuds of horses falling to the ground, and the sound of metal striking the earth.
Another image flashed through Nice's mind: warhorses struck by arrows, collapsing to the ground, their riders thrown from their heavy armor, crashing to the ground, unable to rise again. The scene was so gruesome that he felt breathless, as if he himself had been thrown from his horse.
Just then, Nice felt someone gently shake him.
Almost instantly, he was pulled from the illusion.
There was no rain of arrows, no neighing of warhorses, and no riders lying on the ground, barely alive. Only the dimly lit library, rows of bookshelves, small tables with books on them, and the book on one of them. Besides these, only a plump, middle-aged monk was stroking his forehead, seemingly checking his condition.
"What's wrong? You looked terrible just now. Are you feeling unwell?"
The monk's hands glowed with healing light.
"Right here, quick..."
Luke's voice came from outside the library, followed by a series of footsteps.
Luke had just gone to deliver a message, followed by an old monk.
The middle-aged Nangshi on duty quickly stepped aside, and the older Nangshi stepped forward, waving his hand. A holy light enveloped Niss, and after a moment, he frowned. "This isn't an illness, it's mental exhaustion... You've chosen the path of a prophet! I see."
The older Nangshi flipped through the book in Niss's hand, his expression unusually puzzled.
He certainly understood; Niss's symptoms were exactly the same as those of prophets, astrologers, and soothsayers who had seen the future. Traveling through time and seeing the future was an extraordinary ability, but acquiring it always came at a price. Casting such divine spells severely depleted mental energy; at best, it was like Niss's current state, and at worst, it could even be life-threatening.
To the old man's surprise, the only trace of divine magic present was left by the two healing spells just now. The young man hadn't used any prophetic magic; he had been reading.
That left only one explanation: for some reason, the young man had triggered a resonance with a point in the future.
This was rare, as it required not skill, but talent. Many famous prophets, astrologers, and diviners hadn't been able to achieve it, suggesting this young man had a bright future.
What puzzled the old man was what future events could be related to hidden weapons?
Could some important figure be killed by a hidden weapon? It seemed to be the only possibility. The old man didn't intend to inquire; getting involved in political assassinations would never end well. Furthermore, prophecies are fraught with taboos. Many prophecies cannot be told to outsiders. Once the secrets are revealed, it will bring immense harm to the prophet, even to their soul. Those who know the prophecy will also suffer a terrible fate.
Chapter 3 ◆ Mist
"I'll stay in the same room as last time,"
Nice said to Luke, who was carrying him.
Luke looked at the little guy with a strange expression, and after a long while, a hint of teasing appeared on his face: "You said that nothing happened that day."
Nice's face immediately turned red, all the way to his ears.
Fortunately, lying is not one of the original sins, and lying is not considered a transgression.
"I didn't expect you to choose to become a prophet,"
Luke shook his head, unsure whether it was regret or pity for Nice.
He wasn't very optimistic about the little guy's future.
This path is difficult.
Soul-like priests, those who walk this path, experience slower power growth than others, and their divine spells are less effective. Once they reach a higher level, they are highly sought after, but before that, they are practically useless.
Nice felt looked down upon. Although Mei possessed extraordinary wisdom, it didn't mean his mind was extraordinary. He couldn't help but defend himself: "Only by seeing the road ahead clearly can one avoid falling into a ditch."
Luke found these words somewhat profound. "What do you mean?"
Nice asked smugly. He had imitated the way old Simon spoke, and sure enough, he had immediately stunned Luke.
However, to convince others, mere pretense was useless; genuine ability was required.
"Since the Holy Land was occupied by the Saracens, the Church's power has grown weaker and weaker. Now even the Papacy is controlled by secular rulers. The false accusation against the Knights Templar is a sign that the Church can't even protect its own armed forces. This means the world is entering a turbulent and chaotic era. In such murky waters, sharp teeth and claws are no match for a pair of good eyes."
These words weren't his original; the old man Simon had analyzed the future situation before.
Luketon fell silent. He might not have that kind of wisdom, and his experience wasn't enough to understand all of this, but he still possessed basic discernment.
With something on his mind, this gossipy man unusually kept quiet, escorted Nice back to her room, and silently left.
Lying in bed, Nice glanced at the door; the lock was already fastened.
It was Saturday, a whole day still to go, but he was already getting impatient.
Calming himself, Nice closed his eyes, recalling the contents of the "Complete Guide to Hidden Weapons." He
had chosen his direction; hidden weapons were indeed suited to him. Now he needed to carefully consider how to proceed along this path. He didn't want to become a failure like the Mondstadt wizard, wasting half a lifetime of effort.
The reason for Mondstadt's failure was that he hadn't figured out how to compensate for the fatal weakness of "short duration of magic." If a sword could only maintain its sharpness for a few minutes, even if its sharpness was indestructible during those minutes, no one would dare use it.
This weakness didn't exist for Nice. Throwing weapons are inherently weapons whose outcome is decided in an instant; from release to impact, it takes at most a second. Even if magic must be cast before release, it's only a matter of two or three seconds. For him, a few minutes means he can fire one or two hundred throwing weapons; before his mana runs out, his physical strength will likely be exhausted. Another advantage of using throwing weapons is that he won't be as afraid of close combat as mages and archers, nor will he be as strong in melee as Mondstadt. The path is now clear; his first consideration is which throwing weapons to choose.
The book listed hundreds of concealed weapons, many of them slightly different.
He couldn't stay quietly in the church or monastery like other pastors; he would inevitably be on the battlefield, because many things could only be obtained there. Therefore, a crossbow was essential, and darts and throwing axes were also good options. Considering that crossbows were forbidden in wars between believers, a bow became the necessary backup plan. Although he disliked it, he had to admit that a bow was a very suitable weapon for the battlefield; it had a good rate of fire, range, and sufficient power, and most importantly, its flexibility was far superior to that of a crossbow. Deciding on
the weapons for the battlefield was relatively easy; the next step was to consider weapons for peacetime self-defense.
From the moment he became entangled with the Knights Templar, his life was destined to be fraught with danger. On his way here, he was often awakened by nightmares; he always dreamt of the Inquisition's men storming in like wolves, dragging him from his bed or the dining table, followed by all sorts of torture…
He absolutely did not want that to happen.
Hundreds of hidden weapons flashed through Nice's mind, finally settling on throwing knives. The advantage of throwing knives was their excellent performance in all aspects, ease of use, and convenient stacking for easy carrying. He actually preferred throwing needles, but those were not easy to control; without sufficient skill, one couldn't master them.
The flying needles must be launched using force field magic; relying solely on arm, wrist, and finger strength will result in very short ranges. Furthermore, their inherent destructive power is extremely limited, relying solely on additional damage to increase their effectiveness.
Nice also had his eye on the crossbow.
Carrying a small crossbow and a dozen or so crossbow bolts for self-defense was perfectly acceptable. Crossbow bolts were short and could be fletched, taking up little space, and the crossbow's strike volume wasn't particularly large. In this respect, the bow had no advantage. While the bow's strike volume was small, the arrows were far too long compared to crossbow bolts, and the fletching was too large. Moreover, the bird feathers needed careful handling to avoid damage, as it would affect accuracy.
Having decided on the crossbow, only one question remained.
The throwing knife's attack range is within thirty meters, while the crossbow's range is over one hundred meters, leaving a considerable gap. Originally, a bow would have been a suitable choice, but it's clearly unsuitable for self-defense.
After reviewing the entire "Complete Guide to Hidden Weapons," he found no other options, only the bow. Since
there was nothing readily available, he had to create his own.
Nice didn't aim too high; he set the range between thirty and fifty meters. Any further distance would be handled by the crossbow. This weapon needed a fast firing speed, ideally exceeding the speed of drawing the bow.
Fifty meters seems long, but it's actually quite short. An ordinary person running at full speed could definitely cover that distance in seven seconds. Even a low-ranking knight in heavy armor could run that distance in seven seconds.
If further enhanced with divine spells like acceleration or lightness, the time could be reduced to around five seconds.
This is just human speed; if it were a horse, the speed would be even more incredible.
Therefore, force field magic is immediately ruled out.
Magic activation speed is definitely the slowest. If one day magic could be fired continuously, then only mages would be present on the battlefield; other professions would cease to exist.
After a moment's thought, Nice also ruled out hand-held weapons. Although spear throwers and darts could definitely cover this range, and throwing axes could barely reach fifty meters, these two weapons were too inconvenient to carry. After much deliberation, she finally decided to find a solution based on elastic charging.
Nis pondered the close relatives of the bow and crossbow, hoping to find a suitable choice among them.
The morning prayer bells startled Nis from his sleep. Because of his physical condition, he had gone to bed early the night before, skipping evening prayers and missing the morning prayer as well. Although he was still feeling unwell, Nis dared not miss the morning prayers as well.
He came out of his room and joined the crowd of people praying, entering the chapel. He saw Luke in the distance.
Luke wasn't alone; there were three others with him. He saw Luke, and Luke saw him too. The long-tongued man waved enthusiastically at him. Nis squeezed through the crowd.
"Let me introduce you all, this is the future prophet, Nisholt Conseil from Frankish."
Luke patted Nis on the shoulder, introducing him to those around him.
Yesterday, while Nis lay in bed pondering his path, Luke was also deep in thought, reflecting on Nis's words. He concluded that in this turbulent era, someone who could see the future was indeed needed. Even if they couldn't help in the short term, one day they might escape disaster because of it. Having understood this, he decided to bring Nis into their circle.
"Nis usually lives at the Hidden House, but he'll be here on Saturdays and Sundays,"
Luke winked at Nis.
Nis's ears turned red; he was incredibly shameless.
The three people beside him understood perfectly.
What's on Sunday night? Everyone knows perfectly well.
After introducing Nice, Luke also introduced the others to Nice.
This circle is actually led by two people: Luke and East Singh. This man is good-looking and handsome, but unfortunately, his brown hair is a bit of a flaw, and his every move has a lazy air about him. However, after hearing Luke's introduction, Nice doesn't dare to underestimate this man at all. This man is
absolutely multi-talented; he can write poetry, is proficient in painting, speaks six languages, and is an excellent archer, whether it's a longbow, shortbow, or crossbow, he shoots very accurately. Despite being such a person with a wide range of interests, when it comes to practicing martial arts, he has chosen to specialize in swordsmanship. Although it was their first meeting, Nice had already given the man a good evaluation, describing him as a wise man who knew how to make choices.
Like Luke, both Ister and Luke's fathers were hereditary barons, but neither was the eldest son and therefore could not inherit the lands and titles. Of course, such things were unpredictable; perhaps one day their brother would suddenly die, and everything would be theirs.
The other two men in this circle were Metro Diago, a shrewd-looking man whom Luke had described as quick-witted and well-informed; and Palm Granus, a short but muscular man with a broad back, who, despite wearing a tunic, exuded a powerful aura.
He was probably the strongest among them.
Nise already had a clear idea of who these two were. Metro was most likely responsible for gathering intelligence, acting as the eyes and ears of this small circle, perhaps even running errands, much like Mercury's position among the Olympian gods. Palm, on the other hand, was purely a henchman.
"Come have breakfast with us later,"
Luke invited.
Nise readily agreed.
If he were a magician, perhaps he would prefer solitude; most magicians are solitary. If he were a knight, he could try to be a lone hero; with enough strength, he could fight his way in and out of enemy lines alone. Unfortunately, he was a priest. Apart from the arbiter, other priests need protection, and a priest's strength needs to be demonstrated through the efforts of others, so no one needs allies more than a priest.
On the way here, old man Simon suggested he find a group of regular partners. After several meetings with Luke, he felt Luke was a good person, so now that Luke had introduced him to this circle, he decided to seize the opportunity.
The morning prayer was as long as ever, a full hour, and Nice could clearly sense the impatience of those around him.
The area where Luke and his group were located was surrounded by students of similar backgrounds, and a few coaches as well.
None of these people were believers; some weren't even considered true believers. For them, prayer was simply a task that had to be completed.
Even so, Nice still felt a tiny bit of faith emanating from the air. Although the faith power emanating from each person was small, the cumulative effect was still quite considerable.
Above the chapel, this faith power vanished, as if entering another world.
Nice focused his attention on himself; he could feel his holy power increasing. Compared to praying alone, the rate of increase in holy power was indeed faster, presumably due to the allocation to him. The stronger one's power and the higher one's status, the more holy power one could receive; in this respect, the church and the secular world were not much different. At the
beginning of his prayers, he was somewhat tempted to stay at the Nangdao Academy for a while. However, he ultimately gave up, as the efficiency of such an increase was too limited, and the holy power obtained in this way was impure.
As the morning prayers ended, he heard a series of barely audible sighs all around him, sighs filled with joy and relief.
Emerging from the chapel, Nice followed Luke and the others towards the building on the west side.
It was breakfast time, but few people were heading towards the dining hall. After a week at the Hidden Soul Academy, he understood the situation. The dining hall, like the facade the Soul Cult presented to the world, was purely for show; in reality, the people of the Hidden Soul Academy rarely ate there. Luke and the others ate in the training grounds.
The entire ground floor of the west building was a training ground, a large space with a sandy base—30% soil and 70% sand—designed to prevent falls without being too soft and causing one's feet to sink in.
The training ground appeared empty, with only a dozen or so mannequins, mostly for infantry combat practice, and a few movable ones for mounted charging practice. In each of the two diagonally opposite corners of the training ground were rows of targets, clearly for archery practice.
More and more people arrived; Luke and his companions weren't the only ones in this academy seeking to become apprentice knights. Nice secretly calculated that there were about 120 people here, meaning that over 100 students at the Nangdao Academy weren't there to become apprentice knights. Some might be there to become priests, others simply to learn some culture. These aspiring apprentice knights ranged in age from youngest to oldest, the youngest not even ten.
Suddenly, the crowd parted, revealing six people carrying three large wooden barrels, followed by two children, each carrying a bamboo basket filled with flatbread. One of the barrels was stuffed with minced roasted meat, presumably pork, which looked very fatty. The other two barrels contained a meat salad and eggs, respectively. This was certainly a lavish breakfast.
A student, about seventeen or eighteen years old, roughly Luke's age, stood by the three barrels with a large wooden ladle. The students immediately lined up, and Nice joined Luke and the others.
The breakfast was served quickly. The person in front took a flatbread from a basket and walked to the ladle holder. The roast meat and salad were served directly inside the flatbread, which had a concave center and upturned edges, essentially functioning as a plate. Then they would take two eggs from the barrel next to them. When it was Nice's turn, the ladle holder hesitated for a moment. He clearly hadn't seen Nice before, but he didn't say anything; there was no such thing as freeloading here.
After getting their food, Nice followed Luke and the others to an open space.
"If you feel it's not enough after you finish eating, just go get some more,"
Luke said to Nice. "No need to be polite, Palm always asks for double portions."
Palm glared at Luke; this was easy to misunderstand, making him seem like a glutton. He also knew Luke was a big mouth, and if he didn't find a topic to shut him up, who knew what this guy would say. Palm asked, "Have you received a reply from home? The trip to Nangye starts in two months."
Luke, who had been excited, immediately lowered his head upon hearing this question.
"It should be fine, my family is very generous,"
Luke said somewhat uncertainly. He had written half a year ago, but hadn't received a reply yet. He was hesitant about whether to write another letter to confirm.
Perhaps something had happened with the previous letter.
"What kind of knightly journey?"
Nice asked, not casually, but intending to understand the situation and see if he could help. Since he wanted to integrate into this circle, he naturally wanted to demonstrate his value.
"This is a necessary journey to become an apprentice knight. We must travel around in heavy armor, just like a real knight. The problem is that someone needs to vouch for us along the way,"
Luke explained simply.
Nice immediately understood. Having someone vouch for us wasn't the key issue; the key issue was having someone provide food and lodging. Traveling long distances on horseback, especially in heavy armor, one horse definitely wouldn't be enough. Each person needed at least three horses to rotate, and the expenses for food and supplies would be considerable.
Suddenly, a thought struck Nice; he remembered the old man's instructions to do it as soon as possible.
"Why not go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land? The Saracens have only recently occupied it, and they won't stop us from going for a while. Nobody knows how long this will last, especially now that the Knights Templar no longer exist. It will definitely become more and more difficult to go on a pilgrimage in the future. Perhaps you will be the last group of pilgrims."
Nis said these words casually, as if they were just something he came up with on the spur of the moment, rather than the result of careful consideration.
Luke and Ister exchanged a glance, their eyes filled with surprise. Metro was also very interested, but Palm didn't react at all. In this circle, it wasn't his place to use his brain.
“That’s a great suggestion. We can go to the Holy Land by water. That’s how the Crusaders got there, and they didn’t bring horses on board,”
Metro spoke first. He was moved by what Nice had said about the “last pilgrims.” Luke and Easter had both been to the Holy Land; their families had taken them on pilgrimages when they were very young. He, however, hadn’t had the opportunity because the trip to the Holy Land cost a large sum of money, which his family couldn’t afford. And for a knight, having made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land was definitely a prestigious achievement.
“What about the regulations for knightly travel?”
Luke asked, somewhat worried.
“No need to worry. Under the radiance of pilgrimage, everything is negotiable. Besides, you don’t need anyone to vouch for you along the way. Visiting the Holy Land is the best proof; it can’t be faked.”
Easter was more cunning than Luke. He had already seen through it all. In the church, as long as you have a moral high ground and find a seemingly legitimate reasoning, any strict rules are just a facade and can be easily circumvented.
“Renting a boat isn’t cheap either.”
Luke scratched his head. He glanced at Easter. This circle, led by the two of them, came at a price. When money was involved, they would definitely be the heaviest spenders.
"Of course we should rent a boat, preferably a large one. On the way to the Holy Land, you can take some goods with you,"
Nice interjected again.
He had finally managed to persuade Luke and the others, and naturally didn't want to see them back down because of money.
Nice's idea wasn't due to any cleverness or wisdom, but rather because he had heard the old man talk about the Knights Templar on the way there. The Knights Templar had a way of making money: protecting pilgrims on their way to the Holy Land. Generally, they would also carry some goods, and even encourage pilgrims to take some goods to sell in the Holy Land. If a pilgrim was interested but didn't have the money, the Knights Templar would be happy to provide loans.
Initially, he simply felt that the Knights Templar could indeed make money, and incidentally remembered that he could bring back some goods to sell on the way to the Holy Land.
As soon as he finished speaking, three of the four people opposite him slapped their thighs in disbelief.
"How could we not have thought of that?"
Metro looked unusually dejected. He had always considered himself very quick-witted, but this time he had been outdone by a young fellow.
"We have two months, enough time to raise some money. Now we need to find out what's most profitable to transport there."
Luke looked at Metro; this guy was well-informed and definitely the best person to investigate this matter.
"We can definitely earn back our travel expenses on the round trip, and maybe even make a fortune,"
Palm said, sounding somewhat excited, though he restrained himself from speaking too loudly, after all, they weren't the only ones planning a trip.
Nice suddenly remembered something and quickly added, "We only need to bring back souvenirs to sell on the way there; we don't need to buy any on the return trip."
"Isn't that a waste?"
Palm asked, being rather polite, because this young man seemed more than he appeared.
"I have a better plan,"
Nice said, glancing around. This idea was his own, and it had a slightly disrespectful tone.
Luke clearly misunderstood, seeing Nice's caution and thinking the young man was worried about being overheard and having someone else get there first.
"Just say it! Nobody'll tell,"
he whispered, gesturing for the others to move closer. He himself shifted closer to Nice.
Ister, Metro, and Palm indeed moved in, their four heads crowding in front of Nice, glancing around every now and then. Nice chuckled inwardly at their cautiousness, but outwardly, he also appeared unusually careful.
"Do you know about the Pious Jewel?"
Nice asked.
Luke, Metro, and Palm all looked blank, while only Easter replied, "I've only heard of the Ring of Devotion. It's something useful for a priest's prayers, and if I remember correctly, it makes prayers more effective. However, I've heard that its effects are rather mediocre."
Nice was somewhat surprised; he hadn't expected Easter to know such an obscure thing, which only raised his opinion of the man even higher.
"The Jewel of Devotion is a set of six pieces, and the ring is just one of them. As you said, their effects are indeed quite ordinary, but that's not what many people value."
Nice lowered his voice further, so softly that only the four people could hear him. "The main material for forging this set of jewelry is the soil from the top of the Holy Mountain. When the Holy Land was under the control of the Knights Templar, they made a fortune by making the Jewel of Devotion, but they have always controlled the number of pieces."
Another sound of slapping thighs rang out, and the four people's eyes lit up with excitement.
"Alright, let's go dig up all that soil."
Luke clenched his fists and said through gritted teeth.
This was an absolutely risk-free and highly profitable deal. They all understood that the value of the pious jewelry lay not in its effects, but in the hidden meaning behind it. It could be seen as proof of having made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.
Now that the pilgrimage route was becoming increasingly difficult and dangerous, and could be completely cut off at any moment, the significance of this jewelry was even greater.
"Thank you. Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything in the future,"
Luke said, not just as a polite remark. He genuinely considered Nice one of his own.
"If you're going to the Holy Land, could you take me with you?"
Nice asked naturally.
"Definitely no problem. With you here, you might even be able to help us a lot."
Luke ignored everyone else and readily agreed. He was increasingly convinced that this young man was worth investing in.
"We still have two months. We should all make some preparations and try to find someone willing to lend us money,"
Easter said.
He had a reason for saying this. Luke could ask his family for money; his family wasn't any worse off than Luke's. However, his family's support was limited. Asking his family for small amounts was no problem, but for larger sums, his family might not agree. That's why Easter thought of borrowing.
"We don't have any property. Most borrowers require collateral. Without collateral, the only option is to borrow from loan sharks,"
Metro explained, knowing the ins and outs of the business.
"So be it, usury it is."
Easter said fiercely, knowing better than anyone else what this opportunity meant. If he succeeded, he would never have to rely on his family's "charity" again.
"We also need to find a guide, not just someone to show the way, but preferably fluent in Saracen and familiar with the Holy Land,"
Luke said.
"Going to the Holy Land is dangerous now, and a guide will probably be hard to find. Even if we do, according to your requirements, the price will definitely not be cheap," Metro
voiced his concerns.
Of the four, he was the one who ran errands, and he knew more about some things.
"It's a bit too early to say that now. Let's find a suitable port first and inquire there. Anyway, we need to rent a ship and import goods; there's a lot to do."
Easter's mind was clearer, and he had already started planning.
"It would be best to also get a set of alchemical equipment. It doesn't need to be complete, just a few basic pieces, like a balance scale, a mortar and pestle, a beaker, a flask, a evaporating dish..."
Nice counted on his fingers.
His idea of digging for sacred soil stemmed from his plan to learn alchemy, and pious jewelry was the perfect tool for practice. It was simple to make, and the materials were cheap. At this moment, his request was entirely a case of using public office for private gain. However, this reasoning was understandable; since he intended to make pious rings, these things were necessary. Of course, once the sacred soil was obtained and he actually began making pious jewelry, he couldn't do it alone. He would need to find some alchemists to help. The Ring of Devotion wasn't anything extraordinary; anyone with a basic understanding of alchemy could make it. And there were simply too many people with even a basic understanding of alchemy. Many studied it in secret, and most of them didn't expect to create magical artifacts or spells; even beginner-level alchemy could produce many very useful potions.
"What else?"
Luke intended to hear everything at once.
Everyone looked at Nice, who shook his head, unable to think of anything at the moment.
"Want me to help you find a job? The pay is very good."
Luke was clearly trying to curry favor with Nice. He planned to do something to repay Nice for her suggestion, and he did indeed have the connections.
"I don't need money,"
Nice refused.
This wasn't true, of course; he was currently penniless.
However, once he reached the Holy Land, as Elder Simon had advised, he could contact the Templar Knights' liaison there, and money would definitely not be a problem. The Templar Knights might lack other things, but money was certainly not an issue.
After thinking for a moment, Nice added, "My strength is too weak, so even when I have free time, I'm always praying."
He said this because he was worried about causing a misunderstanding; if Luke and the others thought he was rich and wanted to borrow money from him, he would be very troubled.
Luke pondered for a while, then suddenly thought of a benefit: "Are you interested in copying scriptures?"
Nice's eyes immediately lit up. He had heard the old man mention that there were several ways to accumulate holy power quickly, and copying scriptures was one of them.
Copying scriptures was not ordinary writing; one had to be in a state of prayer while copying. The pens, ink, and paper used for copying scriptures were all specially made. The person copying scriptures would be imbued with holy power, making the process several times more efficient than prayer.
However, this task was arduous. It required speed, neat and beautiful copying, and the writer could not leave the state of prayer during the copying process. Once the prayer was interrupted, the scripture was completely rendered useless, and not only would the writer not receive payment, but money would also be deducted to compensate for the wasted paper.
Nice nodded repeatedly; as long as it was useful for improving his strength, he was willing to do it. Moreover, copying scriptures had many benefits. Not only was it a fast way to accumulate holy power in the early stages, but it also allowed him to apply to become a copyist.
Although the status of a copyist was not very high, it granted him free access to many libraries that were not open to the public. He was also allowed to copy the contents of books. These two benefits were significant; the former goes without saying, but the latter was even more important. Many books, especially magic or alchemy books, contain complex formulas and diagrams that cannot be memorized by memory; they must be copied down.
Ordinary people in libraries are only allowed to read; they are not permitted to bring pens and ink.
Besides, becoming a scribe has another advantage: the possibility of becoming a scribe for a high-ranking noble family. The current Pope Clementine served as a scribe for the Frankish royal family, which is why he received strong support from them; the papacy was even forcibly seized for him by King Philip.
The shrewd monk had even given up the opportunity to become a priest. If he wanted to climb the ranks, he only had a few
paths: find a promising family, become their scribe, and then help them handle their affairs. Once that family reached the top, it would be time to reap the rewards. Nys had no intention of climbing that path, but it was a good fallback plan. If one day he was forced to flee by the Church, joining the camp of a powerful noble family hostile to the Church might be an option.
To survive, he had to make preparations for himself.
"Oh, right, there's one more thing. I wonder if you could help me?"
Nys decided to bring up the matter of the mage.
For the past week, he had been trying to get close to the Mondstadt mage, but unfortunately, he hadn't succeeded, let alone mentioned anything related to magic in front of him. Nice had originally planned to take some time to subtly break down Mond's defenses, but at this moment, he suddenly realized that his inability to do so didn't mean others couldn't. Like knights, commoners had virtually no chance of becoming mages; 99% of mages were from noble families. These three circles—mages, knights, and nobles—largely overlapped.
"You say,"
Luke, usually a gossip, surprisingly succinctly
stated his problem.
"I know that person,"
Metro spoke, proving his well-informed nature.
"Then can you help?"
Luke asked. If Nice had asked, it wouldn't have carried enough weight; clearly, Luke was also a concerned citizen.
Hearing his boss speak, Metro thought for a moment and finally nodded, "I can try. If it's just asking him to teach magic, it shouldn't be too difficult."
His willingness to help wasn't entirely out of respect for his boss. Metro was the kind of person who wouldn't do anything without a benefit, and he clearly saw that Nice was someone worth investing in.
Night fell. Nice lay in bed, his eyes fixed on the door. The lock was on, but he left the door ajar. He wondered if the door would be opened again. After all, the woman hadn't given him a definite promise, only saying that she might come. Time passed slowly, and the sound of rustling footsteps echoed in the corridor. Nice was wide awake; he waited silently.
The footsteps in the corridor went from sparse to noisy, then from noisy to sparse, and finally there were no footsteps at all, only some faint strange noises. Those who had gone out had all gone out; the person who was fooling around in the room was now in the most celebratory moment. The faint sounds didn't arouse his desire; instead, they made him feel the chill of the room. Time passed slowly, and Nice grew increasingly disappointed. The moonlight that had previously felt romantic now seemed strangely appealing. He turned over, facing inward.
Just then, he heard a series of light footsteps in the corridor.
He sat up abruptly.
The door creaked open, and a figure slipped in.
"I thought you weren't coming,"
Nice said, sounding unusually aggrieved, a hint of complaint mixed with relief.
"I really didn't want to come, but I couldn't sleep, and everyone in the dorms next door was occupied."
The woman's cheeks flushed slightly as she said this.
Nice leaned forward to close and lock the door, then turned and reached for the velvet on the windowsill to light a candle.
The woman darted to Nice's side and gently took his hand. "If you want me to come again, you must promise me one thing."
"You won't allow me to know your identity?"
Nice guessed that this was the only possible request.
"Yes, anything else besides that."
The words were unusually ambiguous, making Nice's heart almost stop beating.
Unlike her previous hesitation and indecisiveness, the woman gently removed her cloak and thick veil.
Nice was secretly delighted; the moonlight was bright, and he thought he would finally have a chance to see the woman's face. But when she turned around, he was utterly disappointed. The woman wore a mask, revealing only her eyes, lips, and chin.
He only saw a captivating smile, slightly upturned, with a hint of amusement and mockery.
"Last time, your performance was very poor."
The amusement and mockery turned into blame, and the woman exuded an inexplicable aura of authority.
"I'll teach you."
The woman pulled Nice up and made him sit on the edge of the bed.
Nice felt terrible; for some reason, it reminded him of etiquette training.
"If you want a woman to like you, never be too hasty. Be polite, have manners... all of this is a bit too early for you."
The woman pondered for a long time, resting her chin on her hand. She planned to turn the young man into a perfect man, but that would obviously have to wait several years. In the short term, Nice couldn't possibly have any manners.
"Alright... let's start with kissing."
After thinking for a while, the woman finally decided to ignore the inner meaning and teach the techniques directly.
She made Nice sit up straight with his chest out and stomach in. After correcting the young man's posture, she knelt on Nice. Because of the height difference, she leaned down slightly, which made her waist appear even more slender and her buttocks appear higher.
Nice couldn't resist wanting to touch her.
"You're too hasty,"
the woman glared, her tone turning stern. "You must first win the lady's heart before you can make a move."
Nice quickly removed her hand.
"That's more like it."
The woman grabbed Nice's hand and placed it on her breast. "Now you're allowed."
Nice already knew how smooth and soft that place was from last time, and he gently caressed it, while simultaneously using his thumbs and forefingers to tease her erect nipples. The woman reacted immediately, her breathing becoming heavy again. She gently hooked Nice's chin with her fingers, causing him to tilt his head slightly.
Their lips touched lightly, and then they kissed.
This wasn't Nice's first kiss, but this time it felt completely different. He only felt a delicate fragrance emanating from where his lips were, and after a moment, a sweet tongue darted in, nimbly circling his mouth. It was an exceptionally intense provocation, and the young man felt something within him awaken. His hand slid down.
Just then, a low murmur rang in his ear: "Mind your manners, that should be part of the first lesson."
Nice quickly put his hand back where it was, then extended his tongue, venturing into that sensual mouth and circling it as well.
"How's it going?"
Nice asked softly. His extraordinary intelligence made learning anything easy.
“You’ve learned well; you deserve a reward,”
the woman said.
Nice was immediately encouraged, and his hand reached down.
To his surprise, one of his hands was grabbed and placed back on her breast. Then he heard the woman's disgruntled voice: “The most attractive thing about men to women is their tendency to crave novelty; you must remember that.”
With that, her soft, nimble tongue once again plunged into Nice’s mouth, stirring inside.
The young man wasn’t to be outdone; he quickly learned how to entwine his tongue with hers, how to rub the sides of their tongues together, and how to lick the base of her tongue, because that was the most sensitive spot.
As their tongues swirled and danced, their breathing grew increasingly rapid and heavy, and the woman's eyes became ever more alluring. But for Nice, the most gratifying thing was that one of his hands had unknowingly slid down along her buttocks, about to touch her most intimate parts.
Suddenly, the woman shuddered, pulling the disobedient hand back once more.
"Politeness, politeness, how many times have I told you? We're not that intimate yet."
The warning grew stronger.
But despite the warning, she didn't pull the hand back to the "safe zone," leaving it on the edge of that warning area, just like before. The more unattainable it was, the more it itched within him; Nice's fingers lightly teased that edge. A soft moan escaped the woman's nostrils; she was enjoying the sensation.
Nice's finger crawled forward a notch, and he felt the woman's body tremble slightly again. His finger quickly stopped, ready to retract at any moment. But this time, no warning sounded.
Nice's finger continued to tease the new edge; once the woman was used to the feeling, it would be time for him to take it a step further.
Time passed slowly, and his finger slid down centimeter by centimeter. Nice finally understood what it meant to be too hasty; a woman's defenses needed to be breached gradually. His finger was disappearing, leaving his fingertip sticky and the surrounding area so soft, so intoxicatingly soft.
"Dong—dong—dong—"
A bell rang.
The two suddenly separated.
"It's such a pity, I came too late today, I don't have time."
The woman said while straightening her clothes.
Nice was so disappointed that she couldn't say anything.
The woman kissed Nice on the cheek and comforted her, "Don't be so discouraged, I'll come earlier next time."
"I'm not here every week, I'm not from this Nangdao Academy."
Nice said this, actually expressing her dissatisfaction.
"I know, there aren't many Nangdao practitioners your age, I didn't ask around but I already know about you."
The woman said.
"Didn't ask around?"
Nice didn't believe it at all.
"You should know how boring life at the Nangdao Academy is, so chatting is our only entertainment. Where I'm from, if you stay for just one day, you'll know exactly how many pairs of underwear the Nangdao Academy headmaster owns and what colors they are."
Now Nis believed him, followed by a wave of disappointment.
"Don't say that, I'm definitely in more pain than you. It feels like there's a fire burning inside me, and I can't relieve it myself."
The woman's cheeks flushed beneath her mask. It was truly incomprehensible that such a sin was greater than adultery.
She put on her veil, donned her cloak, and drifted away.

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